Ends and Means
by roflmouse
Summary: AU B/V –Bulma has managed to save Earth from Frieza's wrath by trading weapons and technology for safety. One of her newest gifts from Frieza, the Saiyan prince Vegeta, threatens to undo all she's worked for and ruin the one chance she has at defeating the tyrant. Dark Story
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So after a few years (well several) from actually writing fanfiction, I started getting hit repeatedly over the head with plot bunnies. I'm trying to get some of my mojo and passion back for writing so I am eager to get any sort of criticism I can. I would love positive, negative, constructive and just flat out flames, I crave it. This idea popped into my head while rereading one of the well written Bulma is Vegeta's slave stories, and couldn't resist giving the idea at least a try. Let me know if you think it's worth more chapters. Also fair warning this is a dark fic, and it has a lot of dark themes and a morally bankrupt Bulma. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own only my hopes and dreams.

* * *

"We got a new pet monkey for you, Briefs, courtesy of Lord Frieza."

"Hrm, eventually he'll have to start giving me useful things," the blunette murmured the words without glancing up from the endless piles of paper on her desk. Bulma was a woman with things to do, but even as busy as she was, she always took the time to look nice. Her wavy turquoise tresses were pulled up into a high ponytail atop her head, and though she didn't wear much (she didn't need much) she always at least had a little make up on in the form of mascara, eye liner and lipgloss. As much as it was for her own vanity's sake, and make no mistake she had an abundance of that, it was a small show of just how impressive a woman she was. She could spend all day doing hard work in the lab and walk out the door and be paparazzi ready. As she was the heiress and genius prodigy of Capsule Corporation she'd dealt with the camera vermin since she was a small child, but these days it was for a different reason.

 _Saint or Sinner?_ The question was posed beneath a picture of her perfect face on a magazine cover. She did the interview months ago, and was frankly surprised they decided to cast her in a favorable light. These days it was in vogue to accuse her of making sleazy deals with the devil and pacification. Not that those accusations were false, that was exactly what she'd done. When Frieza's mighty empire came knocking at Earth's door for their next purge, it was with the help of her inventions that they were initially repelled. Long story short she and her father masterminded a deal with the tyrant to supply weapons and technologies on the condition Earth remain free and mostly untouched. During the tentative few years after the treaty was brokered Bulma, and frankly all her loyal workers, had gone above and beyond to impress just enough to keep Frieza from immediately going back on their deal.

She wasn't stupid, she knew that the deal would only last as long as they were a) able to be useful to him and b) did not pose enough of a threat to him to merit him wiping them out as a precautionary measure, much like he'd done with the Saiyans. Only a few of them were left, and Frieza seemed to take an exceptional delight of sending those that did to her for weapons testing. Earth had become a threat amongst his empire, behave or wind up in one of the blue-haired she-wolf's cages. That's what one of the headlines she'd read from other planets said anyway. That alone gave her some room to breathe, even as a warning she was still useful. It was a hard act to balance, she was capable of a lot more than she gave to him, but she couldn't risk becoming dangerous. So she gave him only exactly what he asked for. If she knew it would take six months to do it, she took a year, and then in the meantime plucked away at the backup plan for when he inevitably turned on her. If her projections were right, it would be done long before they needed it, giving time for tweaking and testing. Speaking of testing…

"This one is probably just going to be a pain in the ass. He was the prince monkey before that hell hole was blasted to shit." The man who'd spoken was from one of the many races she didn't bother learning anything about, he was just another pile of muscles this time colored in orange with two extra eyes and no nose. She'd forget what he looked like when he left, and she had a suspicion from his familiar tone that she'd already forgotten him a few times. She finally glanced up from the stack of papers and settled her cerulean gaze on her new arrival, like all the others he was barely conscious, bound with the ki suppressers she'd designed, and looking like hell. He was a short fellow; well he would be if not for that trade-mark Saiyan hair, his shaped like flames. She couldn't resist a snort, so the walking Napoleon complex was her problem now? She had two other Saiyans, one of them was borderline succeeding as well as one could during enslavement by being overly useful, Kakarot or something, she couldn't remember his name. Her supervisors told her he'd take on the work the other's struggled to complete to keep anyone from getting in trouble, and harsh as she may be given her new reality, she still wasn't entirely heartless. Those that behaved got privileges. The other guy, a bald guy came to her a month or so ago and within a week had earned his spot down below.

The pit was what they called the weapons testing holding cells, the poor fucks down there were kept in peak health condition so that the success of whatever they were testing could be accurately assessed. Many of the weapons tested down there were rather _grisly._ One of the scare tactics Bulma had to resort to given the nature of her strong and stubborn work force was to claim that there were more people down their than there actually were. There was only one real reason any slave got banished there, and that was killing someone. It happened enough that the cells were almost always at maximum capacity. They may have all had to wear Ki-sapping wrist and neck cuffs that were rigged to cause painful electric shocks at the first sign of misbehavior, but they were all still so _strong_ and many of the former soldiers were very much capable of killing without having to get fancy with it. Those sorts were almost always more trouble than they were worth, and she had enough to last for quite some time. She preferred receiving more docile slaves, ones that had some technical know-how, or could cook and clean, those usually wound up free in a few years after the empire had forgotten about them. Still, she'd never dare tell Frieza she didn't like what he sent her; she knew not to look gift horses in the mouth.

"Pit's still full; it might clear up next week after the next wide-scale test. In the meantime drop him with the good monkey." She paused and looked at the pathetic prince before her, his eyes were barely open but still he was glaring at her. Yes, he would probably be trouble.

"If he behaves, I won't send him. Though he'll have to impress, I've got too many new weapons to test and not enough _volunteers_." She didn't think that would actually succeed in scaring the man, but it at least gave him a clear picture of the reality he was facing. So when he inevitably fucked up, it would be on his head and not hers.

* * *

He hadn't stayed conscious much longer, somewhere between being dragged out of the woman's office and to where ever he was now, he'd passed out. It was unclear how long he'd been down, but from the fogginess in his mind, it seemed likely it had been a few hours. Damn near every inch of his body ached, and it was more than a small struggle to even sit up in the bed he'd been dumped in. He let out a low growling groan and rand his hand over his tender side. As far as he could tell, nothing had been broken, that was likely intentional. They weren't going to drop him here in too bad of a condition, just enough that he couldn't struggle much on the way over. He'd known the entire way where they were taking him, he'd listened to the smirking crew ponder all the horrible things that would become of him. It hadn't scared him, fear was pointless, but it was certainly _concerning_ given all the rumors swirling around the mysterious facility on the back water planet called Earth. He'd even seen some of the maimed corpses shipped back to show the progress on whatever cowardly weapon that was being developed. That was the official story; he knew Frieza just wanted to frighten good behavior out of his men. Not unlike what the infamous Ms. Bulma Briefs had attempted with him.

The tales of her had grown large with each telling, ending in a depiction of a beautiful, sex crazed, sadist getting her kicks off mutilating men. It was clear within seconds of seeing her that this characterization was grossly inaccurate. The woman he saw behind the desk was beautiful but had seemed more bored that he was there than excited to have a fresh victim. The threat she'd spoken was done so obligatorily, it was not something she delighted in doing; it was something she _had_ to do. That's not to say he doubted she would follow through, or that she wasn't capable of doing something horrible, only that she was apathetic about it. That realization had bothered him more than if she had been the lunatic she'd been portrayed as, at least a lunatic could be motivated and manipulated. If he hoped to have freedom, dealing with her would be difficult; he would not be able to inspire compliance by conventional means.

"Oh, good you're awake," were the far too chipper words that jarred him from his thoughts, "I got you some bandages and clothes, Vegeta. I know the situation sucks, but I'm not even going to pretend I'm not happy to see you." The man speaking them was Kakarot, an extremely competent warrior, if overly simple at times. Vegeta cleared his throat before throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and the dull ache sharpened at the sudden motion.

"Maybe, go a little slow for a bit, huh? They don't give out pain killers to people that haven't earned them here." The younger man said as he dropped the items beside the older still sitting on the bed. Finally Vegeta looked up to regard his former companion and could feel his own pessimism growing. The formerly fresh faced young man was looking much worse for wear. He had dark circles hanging under his eyes, and lines forming over his brow from frowning. He'd lost weight, and paled in the year or so since they'd last seen each other. Even the man's hair, despite his lineage, seemed duller and limp. Kakarot had been one of the most impressive fighters Vegeta had met, and seeing him reduced to what he was now did not bode well for the smaller man's future.

"You aren't my fucking nurse, Kakarot," Vegeta spat the words out and started to rise to his feet. To his credit he did make it, but not without a few moans of pain.

"Yeah, well, you only get a day before they put you to work, and you really don't want to fall behind," there was a certain tension in Kakarot's face, an unspoken statement that he knew all too well what happened when someone fell behind. Vegeta regarded him with a deepening frown, the situation seemed worse with each passing moment.

"Why, does that get you sent to _the pit_?" Vegeta asked bitterly, as he stripped what remained of his armor off, and changed into the plain white shirt and thin, gray cloth pants he'd been provided. It was the same thing Kakarot wore.

"No, only Ms. Briefs can have someone sent there, and she doesn't really care much about the mundane stuff. As far as I can tell, you only go there for killing her staff, but I wouldn't try testing it. If you slack off or get in trouble for other things they usually remove whatever privileges you have or send you over to medical research and development." The young man only looked older with that grimace that was deepening on his face, and rubbed rather purposefully the right side of his abdomen. The implication was not missed on Vegeta. Rather pathetically Kakarot mustered up a half smile.

"Like I said earlier, you have to earn the pain killers," he said before fixing Vegeta with a long meaningful stare. The shorter man could feel himself numb at the words, could feel the blood drain from his face. He felt his heart beat quicken and a tingle in his mind, this would not be how the Prince of the Saiyans and the last of his race went down. This could not be their legacy. He'd served a mad tyrant for most of his life, he knew how to take orders and survive a bad situation, and those were skills he knew he'd have to use.

"We're going to get the fuck out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I just wanted to say thank you to all of you out there giving me a read, a special thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews. I love those things! There is a gore warning for this chapter, though it's not super explicit. I won't lie I had an absolute blast writing this one, especially Bulma, and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if you like it or hate it by leaving me a review!**

* * *

His cell, which could almost be called a room, was not as bad as Vegeta had expected. There was a separated restroom with full restroom facilities, though apparently they didn't deign it necessary to waste hot water on the slaves. The two beds were anchored to the ground, and though there were no sheets or blankets (he didn't need to be told why) they at least had control over the temperature in the room on a small panel beside the door. There was a camera in the ceiling, only the lens poked out. Despite how utilitarian the room was, he'd been stuck in far worse locations.

The thing that was so unpleasant was just how monotonously routine everything was. The door to their cell was shut and locked mechanically every night at 8pm on the dot, and exactly fifteen minutes later the lights went out. They came back on at 5am sharp, that was when their assignment for the day was posted on data pad beside the door, and both people in the room had to accept with a thumb print before the door opened. Meals were staggered based on what assignment you received, so far he'd worked every day with Kakarot. He knew a leash when he saw one, but it didn't bother him that much. Even though they'd been rivals for a long time, well in Vegeta's mind anyway, an ally in this situation was beyond useful. Kakarot was well liked by the supervisory slaves, and even by a lot of the fellow inmates that had been kept from MRD when the younger Saiyan had picked up the slack for them. The dreaded MRD was Medical Research and Development, and it was, from his understanding, only a few steps up from weapons testing. Vegeta hated to admit he appreciated the younger man, but during the few days after his arrival, while he was still healing Kakarot had worked himself to the bone compensating. On some level he knew his old rival was desperate to keep him out of trouble. Having something familiar seemed to be doing wonders for Kakarot, he even looked better.

His first week was going smoothly thus far. Struggle though it was to behave when faced with menial tasks like kitchen duty and cleaning, he'd swallowed his pride (and it was an awfully big thing to have to) and did exactly as instructed. His blood boiled every time he was forced to his knees to scrub something off the floor, he could hear Frieza and his high-ranked cohorts mocking the Prince of the Saiyans reduced to a maid. _You missed a spot_ is what he knew Zarbon would coo as he spill something on the floor. Thankfully no one so far had teased him, even though everyone knew who he was. He wasn't sure he could maintain his calm otherwise.

What really frustrated him, though, was he was fast realizing that escape was going to be next to impossible. His original and admittedly overly optimistic plan was to go after the human, either physically or by earning some amount of good will. He didn't expect either of those to be enough to get out, but enough for him to suss out some weakness in the facilities design that he could exploit. He hadn't seen a single human the entire week, not one. Everything was either automated or ran by other slaves.

The slaves were segmented into tiers; the other two that Vegeta did not belong to did get to interact with their human overlords. The top tier worked in the labs alongside humans either providing technical, medical, or scientific knowledge. This tier and the one below it were capable of earning their freedom. It apparently wasn't just something the humans promised to gain good behavior; a lot of them did get to walk out of the Capsule Corp compound eventually. Apparently there was even a department set up to help them find jobs and homes, or arrange transportation to other planets. The second tier was for the supervisors; they monitored the daily tasks and were the ones that kept track of the dreaded lower tier's behavior. They were given control over their charge's ki-suppressors and as such were responsible for stopping aggression before it got out of hand. Some were allowed to assign certain punishments or revoke certain privileges, but by and large all severe consequences had to be approved by the humans themselves. It was a remarkably efficient run of things, and loath as he was to admit it, he was impressed. He really hadn't given the humans enough credit.

Of course he was part of the lowest tier, and it was comprised almost exclusively of former warriors and what he'd heard one of the supervisors condescendingly refer to as _problem children_. They didn't even bother dangling the promise of freedom in front of tier three's face. It was a life sentence, or rather one of death. If you didn't die in a fight with one of the other slaves, or from a botched experiment in MRD, weapons testing was inevitable. Officially he'd been told that the only way to get sent there was initiating a conflict that ended in death, but he'd also heard that once upon a time MRD was reserved for serious infractions. Kakarot might not have been able to see the writing on the wall, but Vegeta knew they would have to get out quick before the rules started shifting yet again.

"Alright, gentlemen," the soft voice of a young female separated him from his musings, "as you know you're on janitorial duty today." His scowl depened, Prince Vegeta the janitor, if there were any blankets in his cell he might has well have hanged himself. They'd been waiting in a holding room for close to an hour before the pretty, purple skinned woman had come in. She had fluffy green hair, and seemed suspiciously upbeat. She was dressed to denote her status as a tier two slave, her pants were loose fitted in black, and her shit was a crisp white button down. A small radio was clipped to the collar of the shirt, and she held a data pad in her hand. When she'd looked up at the group she'd given Kakarot a big grin, and Vegeta didn't bother to suppress the snort.

"This is going to be quite a task; the room was used earlier today for a weapon's test, so time is not your friend." She was scrolling along the pad and thus didn't seem to notice the particularly nasty look that was shot at Vegeta from one of the other slaves in the room with him. While he didn't recognize who he was, he knew instantly why there was going to be friction that day. He and the ugly bug next to him were from one of the many planets Vegeta had helped purge. There was only one other in the room, a Namekian, looking even more burnt out than Kakarot did that first night when Vegeta arrived. With any luck they'd be able to complete the task on time, as he'd been warned, not keeping up was ill advised. All the obnoxious insects had to do was not fuck anything up.

* * *

For their bi-monthly prescheduled lunch dates, Bulma had booked a reservation at one of the four places she was still willing to eat at. She wasn't picky, in fact one of her favorite foods was instant ramen, and there was certainly a time in her younger years when she liked to be seen anywhere and everywhere. These days however too much exposure was a bad thing for her, so the restaurants she went to were the ones that were extremely hard to get in to. This particular restaurant fit that bill, only people of certain caliber could get in, and Bulma was nothing if not impressive. She did miss when things were easier, more care free, when she and Yamcha would blow off a nice spot for hot dogs or prance about town like they owned it. The last few times they'd tried anything remotely whimsical it had gone horribly wrong. One night they were greeted by a group of human's rights activists (she gave herself credit for not reminding them she didn't deal with humans in front of the press) who proceeded to chuck a bucket of pig's blood on Bulma. It had bothered her so deeply at the time, that was when she still had some silly hope in her, when she still believed that she could come out a hero in all of this. Now she just held a grim smirk every time she pictured them succeeding at releasing all the dregs of Frieza's army onto a hapless Earth. She'd been vindictive her entire life, but the level of pessimism was relatively new. It happened so quick that she didn't even realize her soul was slipping away from her until it was gone.

At first, like her father and just about everyone else, there was a cautious optimism once Earth was out of immediate danger. It was a workable fix, and their consciences were relatively clean. The early requests had been predictable, some basic weaponry, technical upgrades to ships, so on so forth. Naturally that didn't take long to change, and soon Frieza had come up with more creative and cruel demands. This had been a source of endless debate between the Briefs family and their most trusted employees, what was the line they weren't willing to cross in order to save the world? However, the shift had happened so slowly, they'd just been nudged so gently towards that line that no one even noticed when it was finally crossed. By the time they'd been sent the first batch of slaves, no one really batted an eye about receiving them. Instead of an ethical debate that would've been held a couple of years prior, the only discussion was setting up the personnel and infrastructure required to house and maintain their charges. That was after her father had passed, it was a small comfort that he didn't live to see all of this, especially not to see his beloved daughter become a literal slave driver. They'd started with strict rules and regulations, and those would've likely stayed if they weren't sent so many _problem_ slaves. It had taken all of six weeks before the resolve on not using testing as punishment had been destroyed, and she'd lost some of her best employees during the time. That had been when she realized that she wasn't a good person anymore, she couldn't afford to be, she had to be the one making difficult calls that no one else was capable of. The morale of her managers and executives actually went up during that period having that particular burden off their minds. Being a drone and following orders was easy, easier than facing the reality that even in your own mind you've gone from protagonist to villain. Still, regardless how history would wind up viewing her, there would still be humans around to write it, especially if she could just get the secret weapon working. She shouldn't be thinking so much about work, she was technically on a date.

Neither one had said much since they'd sat down at the most secluded table at the restaurant (they were always put in this spot), these days they didn't do a lot in the way of talking. That was a short trip to an argument. She really wasn't even sure why they both still bothered doing this, they'd both checked out of the relationship years ago. Bulma and Yamcha had been teenaged sweethearts with big dreams and a bright future, but even then it was clear to most that it wasn't a relationship built to last. They were worlds apart and saw almost everything different. That problem had only exacerbated after the shit hit the proverbial fan. Yamcha didn't approve, and it had been made clear over and over again.

"Thinking about a steak tonight, babe?" He asked, but didn't care. She didn't either.

"I don't get to exercise as much so I'll have to keep it light, probably chicken," she replied with a small smile hidden behind her raised menu. It was bait and she knew he was thick enough to take it. Perhaps it was more than just a little juvenile of her, not just to knowingly pick a fight with him in a public place, but do it knowing she was going to leave him behind to foot the bill. She'd gone all out on her appearance tonight, wearing a dark blue dress that was literally made for her body. Her hair was down but perfectly styled in waves that fell below her shoulders, but it was the shoes that she really was proud of. She never felt as powerful as she did when wearing a pair of outrageously expensive heels. These had elegant shapes carved into the stiletto making them look all the more precarious; they were black with crystals lining the straps. Of course she'd completed appropriately accessorized them with dark red toe-nail polish. They may have been several inches high, but she could strut in them like they were flats, and it was definitely worth the pain. Poor Yamcha, though, when he'd arrived and spotted her looking as amazing as she did, he'd actually gotten excited, like maybe they were finally going to have sex again. They weren't, but it was fun to tease.

"Oh? Busy then? With _work_?" Hook, line, and sinker, if she ever lost her touch for this she'd no longer be qualified to call herself Bulma Briefs.

"Hmm?" She asked feigning distraction and as she resumed staring all too intently at the menu.

"So you're too busy building missiles for a _space tyrant_ to get off your ass and go for a jog?" He'd tossed the menu unceremoniously across the table. He'd gotten dressed up for her too; he wore a nice suit and a deep scowl, and for some reason that made it more fun. She knew he always had some small hope that things were going to work out, that she'd see the light. That he could convince her to stop the madness and save her soul. Of course, Bulma didn't particularly buy his sanctimonious routine given that he'd only just stopped staring at all the beautiful women in the restaurant moments ago. That had been the source of many fights before all this, to him it was just looking, to her it was showing the whole world how little respect he had for her. Now she just let him look and focused on fights she knew she'd win, like this one.

"What would you have me do, hmm? Not build them? I suppose it would be fun to see just how quickly he could get here after I politely but firmly tell him to fuck off. Think the kids will die first?" She reached for her glass of wine and took a long slow victory sip before folding the menu and setting it atop his. She clasped her hands together and rested them on the table.

"How could you even say something like that?" He hissed the words out from clenched teeth. She watched him struggle to keep his volume down and maintain any sort of control. No one liked to be reminded that Frieza and his merry band of assholes had no moral qualms with murdering children. People always looked so scandalized when she reminded that not keeping the monster lightyears away meant a lot of dead baby humans, but that was reality.

"Say what? The truth? That's the problem isn't it? All these people and their self-righteous indignation come screaming at me demanding things, and yet not one of them has an answer for the inevitable repercussions of undoing what was done. They seem to expect me to be able to wave some magic wand and just let all the dangerous murderers out of my basement, stop building weapons, and still keep the monsters at bay." She spoke in her most condescending tone, as if explaining etiquette to a child.

"Those people didn't put us in this position, you did, and you're the one that's helping some egomaniacal madman decimate worlds," he was shaking now and she simply smiled.

"Oh, well next time someone comes to blow us all to hell; I'll just let someone else save us, see how much better they do." She tipped her head back and finished off her glass of wine. Yamcha opened his mouth, she could tell from his stance, which was growing more aggressive by the moment, that he was about to give in and start yelling at her. Unfortunately, he didn't get to. Her cell phone, which she'd left sitting rather rudely on the table, started buzzing.

"No, babe, go ahead, take it, it's not like this is anything important," he huffed sounding mad, but she watched him relax in his chair and she frowned. He was relieved that the argument had ended before it had gotten out of control yet again. She was disappointed, but to her credit didn't show it. Instead she picked up the phone and answered.

"Bulma Briefs," she reported in a pleasant tone.

"Ms. Briefs, we've got a Code Pink on our hands." The words were spoken quietly by her personal assistant; as if afraid she might be on speaker. Bulma didn't use speaker, not anymore.

"I'm on my way," she hung up the phone, already getting to her feet. Code Pink was deliberately innocuous sounding; so that outsiders wouldn't know when she was being informed there'd been another _incident_ on property. She was relieved at least that she hadn't been able to eat yet; her stomach was already growing restless. Her face did not reflect that though, she channeled the emotion that was starting to boil within her to keep the image of an angry girlfriend. So as she was leaving she stopped and removed her wallet from her purse. She counted out a rather impressive sum of cash in front of Yamcha and with a flick of her wrist, tossed it at his chest.

"I've got more important things to do, have a drink with the girl at the bar you were eyeballing earlier; it's on me," she didn't even let him retort, she was already gone. She had a hell of a poker face, she didn't use to, she remembered the times when she'd fly into a panic and dissolve into one of her trademark Bulma Briefs tantrums. Histrionics could have been her middle name, but now she couldn't afford to be careless with the image she presented, her heart was pounding in her chest and she was struggling to keep her breathing normal. All she could do at the moment was hope that there weren't many corpses, and that none of them were her employees.

* * *

As it turned out, the code pink was at the very least not another dead human, and that was a very small favor. It was a dead supervisor, one that was well liked and on the fast track out of slavery. She shouldn't feel so relieved, but she did. It was much harder these days for that sort of _accident_ with a human to happen. They'd stepped up their security and automated almost everything to avoid any more employee casualties. It had happened a few times as the kinks in the new system were evened out, but Capsule Corporation was happy to report that there had been no new _accidents_ in at least two months. She snorted despite herself; she could just imagine the field day the press would have with that public announcement.

Human casualties were down, but that had only turned the aggression inward, and that was a more challenging problem to solve. Some members on her board didn't particularly care much when the slaves killed each other, and were trying to divert spending away from any further prevention to more profitable areas of the company such as medical research. Bulma knew better, even if she agreed with them (and she was fairly certain she didn't), they just couldn't afford even more bad press. As if that wasn't bad enough she was getting pressure from both her board, and from Frieza's personal scientists to start sending more slaves to testing, both medical and weapons. She wondered how long it would take before she was forced to cave on that. Capsule Corporation was very proud of the program it had in regards to freeing slaves (prisoners as they were referred to in the media); it was one of the few things that bought them any good press anymore. They were always a step away from having the government swoop in and start regulating everything. She couldn't risk having to turn over all her work, she was so close to having what she needed to beat Frieza. That was why it was procedure to contact Bulma whenever incidents like this occur, no one else could be trusted to handle them. So there she was, still dressed to kill in one of the many labs at the compound, standing in a puddle of blood. She'd have stood somewhere else, but well, viscera was absolutely everywhere. Blood was streaked across the floor, with semi-solid bits of organ matter strewn about. So much for the shoes she'd been so proud of. She lifted her left foot off the ground and thick ropes of coagulated mess clung tight, which meant that this wasn't fresh.

"Before you get too mad, Ms. Briefs, this was a test area, they were supposed to be cleaning it before the- ahem- incident," a young lab tech said in a nervous, quick tone. His name was Mr. Timpara Ebi; he was mostly reliable, but prone to panicking especially when Bulma was about. Yes, even her employees feared her wrath, admittedly for different reasons. At the very least the men pinned to the ground weren't responsible for that level of destruction. No, that would be the humans were behind it; that was a grim thought that she had to shake from her mind.

"Certainly looks like they did a shit job of it," she remarked rather dryly before carefully stepping around a few fleshy bits on her way to the three men. One of the more useful adaptations she'd made to the ki-suppressors was magnetizing them, in certain areas at the push of a button all of the slaves would be forced to the ground by their wrists. Originally it had been applied to the collars in strength enough to match the wrists, but that led to a lot of snapped necks. So it was toned down enough that it wouldn't cause damage outside of a bruise or two, but it would still be hard for her charges to overcome its force. In this scenario, it meant that the two Saiyans that had landed on their stomachs had their faces directly in the mess.

"And why am I not surprised that his _royal highness_ is involved in all of this?" She posed the question rhetorically as she came to a halt right before the flame haired pain in the ass. He struggled against the collar so that he could lift his head and look at her feet, now streaked with blood, before turning his gaze upwards. She shoved his head back down with the stiletto heel of her shoe, she knew she wouldn't do any real damage, but she could get some blood out of him. So she pushed down hard until she was rewarded with a hiss of pain.

"No, that's alright, don't say anything, you," she pointed at Kakarot and snapped her fingers while she searched her mind for his name, "Cockrot, why don't you tell me what happened here?" She already knew what had happened; she'd watched the security tape on the way in and was given a play by play from another employee who had recounted it like a particularly exciting wrestling match. She would have to remember to have that one watched. The slaves had been dispatched after all useful materials and potentially dangerous items had been removed and the humans had been tucked safely out of sight. One of the Mantisians, bug people as they were called by damn near everyone else, had been escalating in aggression towards the two Saiyans. When the supervisor threatened to take action, the second had snapped her neck. Then the fight broke out, and for some unknown reason when the two bug people started losing the fight the Namekian had come to their aid.

"My name is-"

"I don't care."

"Sorry, Sir- err- Ma'am… Miss, me and Vegeta were cleaning-" Bulma scowled at the affront to grammar but didn't correct it, "like we were supposed to, and the other guys started being mean. Then that one threw a punch at Vegeta, and the supervisor-" from the ground Kakarot managed to point to one of the corpses across the room. Bulma held up a hand to silence him from going further, like the well behaved monkey he was, he stopped talking. Bulma turned her attention back to the Saiyan under her foot and furrowed her brows; his hand was balled up in a fist. He was clutching something. Knowing better than to assume it was nothing, she removed her heel from his head to squash his hand until he released it. She got more blood from him before his grip finally surrendered. Something furry hit the ground and she kicked it away from his fingers.

"That seems like an awfully light view of events, very one sided. Mr. Ebi would you be so kind as to fetch me some gloves?" She flashed her charming grin at the terrified lab tech, who scurried off quickly to meet her request. Her attention then turned to the Namekian; the two Saiyans had been in the process of beating him to death before they'd been stopped and forced to the floor. On her way to him she slid, almost falling on her way over to him in a puddle of fresh blood; the purple color was proof enough that it belonged to the Namekian. Her heart rate picked up, during the seconds between the slip and regaining her composure, she couldn't afford to show any amount of weakness, not in front of men like these. Once she was certain she was standing safely she smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her dress and cast her gaze at the green, bleeding man below her. His breathing was labored and sounded painful, but he'd survive depending on how this conversation went.

"Nail, wasn't it?" She leaned forward, bending at the waist with her hands pressed up against her thighs. He'd landed on his back when they'd been grounded. He appeared to be a young man, but had that look all slaves tended to get when they were sent too often to MRD. He frowned and nodded as his breathing picked up, she made him nervous. Her lips faltered for a moment; oh did she miss the days when people were only scared that she was going to fire them.

"If you're capable of talking, why don't you give me your explanation? You might want to make it a good story; I haven't decided quite yet what I'm going to do with any of you." She straightened up as Mr. Ebi made his way back to her with a box of latex gloves jutted at her, slipping and sliding all the way. It was almost an adorable image, like a child holding something for their mother trying to get across a wet floor.

"Nothing else to tell," the young man rasped out, and Bulma frowned. She put on the gloves provided for her, giving them a soft snap into place and went to pick up the furry whatever that the monkey prince had been holding. It took all of a moment to identify what it was, a chunk of a tail, and a quick glance at the two Saiyans confirmed it was not from either of them. It didn't look fresh either. Logic dictated that it had been left from the weapons test earlier that day.

"Really? There's nothing else you want to add? Like why you were even involved in the first place?" She frowned; from the official report the Namekian had no reason to participate in the fight, he'd been minding his own business and only hopped in when the fight got really nasty. The ones that were dead were of an almost extinct race, natives of one of many purged planets. There was some grim humor somewhere to be had picturing all the conservation efforts gone into saving birds while entire populations of people were being decimated. A quick search on the internet on the way in had confirmed her suspicion; it was one that the Saiyans had eradicated.

The Namekian just shook his head and looked away; Bulma couldn't keep her lips from curling. They could never just make something easy. Without moving she cast a sidelong stare at the prince; he was watching her like she was prey. She smirked but returned her attention to the body part in her hand.

"Seems like we're down a monkey in weapons testing," she announced and earned herself a growl from the flame-haired prick. A shush from the other monkey followed quickly.

"Something on your mind, _my prince?_ " She spoke the last words in a sickeningly sweet tone as she approached. She didn't stop until her feet were an inch from his head, one on either side. He'd have to crane his neck to look at her face, granted he could catch a view of the lacy white underwear beneath her dress, but modesty was never one of Bulma's traits. He stared into her eyes and held the gaze, something very few people, not even the humans, dared to do these days. After a tense moment passed he shook his head and looked down, but not before she saw the smirk cross his lips.

"Very well, the two that initiated are already dead, Mr. Ebi, please make certain their corpses make it to the resources department, scrap them for anything useful." She tossed the chunk of tail over her shoulder and removed her gloves. She let those drop onto the prince's head before she stepped away. The human man nodded quickly, and started talking into the small radio clipped to his collar, but quickly paused.

"And the supervisor…?" Mr. Ebi trailed off, looking uncertain as to whether or not he should have asked. Bulma sighed and rubbed her head, with a frown.

"See that she's buried intact, her paperwork was almost finished being processed for release, so treat this as a free person." There was that uncomfortable feeling again, when she remembered she was dealing with people that had hopes and dreams.

"You know, this may come as a surprise to you degenerates, but like most civilized people I don't particularly enjoy any of this. I don't like having my romantic rendezvous' on my day off cut short so I can stand in entrails. It's bad enough you assholes have to kill each other, can't you just fucking leave the others alone?" For dramatic effect she kicked a semi-solid something right next to her foot hard enough to send it to Cockrot's face. He brought up his arm just enough to avoid having to take whatever it was on the nose, but he didn't bat a lash at the sickening squish it made when it hit his arm and stuck there.

"I mean I know you enjoy this even less than I do, especially the part where I have to decide what to do with you." She rubbed a hand over her temple and finished with an exasperated sigh.

"Since you refuse to give me any justifiable reason as to why you jumped in on the first place, I'm counting you as an aggressor in this. Maybe you'll be a little less belligerent after a month over at medical research and development."

"You should've let them kill me," Nail spat out, and Bulma bristled. So that's why he'd gotten involved, suicide ploys weren't uncommon. He'd hopped in on the side he knew would lose and hoped the Saiyans would finish him off before they could be stopped. Medical research was rougher for some species than others. Namekians tended to get the shit end of that stick given their unique ability for regeneration, the department was always begging her to send more to them. She was still sticking to the rule that it was a punishment, but the nasty voice in the back of her mind asked her how much longer that was going to be the case. She'd had a suspicion that there were deals between the supervisors and lab staff to see that certain sorts were sent their way more often for infractions. She didn't have any tangible proof though.

"Fine, I'm not a monster. Weapons Testing it is, if you want to die, far be it from me to prevent that." She smirked but felt an intense queasiness in her stomach. Yes, she knew she was a monster, a little more so every new day from the last.

"Cockrot, I must say I am extremely disappointed, you're the one I always get glowing reports on. He's so helpful, he picks up the slack for others, and he helps out the new comers. I think it was her that sent half of-" she was cut off while pointing at the body of the young woman with her thumb, she _never_ got cut off.

"You've had your pathetic little power trip, woman, either punish us or don't," the prince was struggling against his collar now to lift his face out of the muck and glare at her. Bulma was frankly so surprised that she didn't notice the door to the room slide open, nor did she notice her personal assistant come barreling through it.

"Excuse me?" She sounded positively incredulous, and she was. Was this bastard really so stupid as to court her rage after she just ordered someone to the dreaded Weapons Testing department.

"Should I have spoken slower? Do you have trouble listening to anything that's not your own voice?" The words were spoken through a clenched jaw. She narrowed her eyes, and watched the man attempt to regain some pride by trying to force himself to his feet; he was making an impressive show, but ultimately getting nowhere.

"Vegeta! Don't!" The younger Saiyan pleaded with the older, but before he could either be heeded or disregarded, the young assistant slipped and fell rather dramatically face first onto the heavily soiled ground. She quickly sat back up in shock and stared in horror at what was now coating her body. Hands shaking she tried in vain to rub it off, and the woman's dark skin grew pale. She was starting to heave when Bulma snorted.

"Miss Camari, is there a reason you're interrupting me? I mean, you do remember how much I hate that don't you?" Bulma did her best to calm her tone a bit, but the agitation was clear to everyone.

"Ms. Briefs! I-I'm sorry- so sorry! You have a… ahh… call! Important call, very big important call!" The young woman cried out, she was trying awkwardly to get to her feet a complete trembling mess. She reached for a helping hand from Mr. Ebi who only offered it with extreme reluctance, and he helped get the weak mess back to her feet. Once she was set in place, Mr. Ebi grimaced at his now bloodied hand and wiped it on the leg of his khaki trousers leaving a nasty looking stain. Dimly Bulma was aware at one point in her life she might have responded similarly to the situation, she wasn't sure if she was proud or not that she was "tougher" now.

"Unless it's Lord fucking Frieza himself, tell them to call the fuck back," the blunette spat the words venomously and was about to redirect her attention back to the prince.

"Uhhhh…" The young women trailed off, tapping her fingers together nervously. Bulma's eyes went wide and she felt her heart start thudding in her chest. Quickly she crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands out of sight to prevent anyone from seeing them shake. Frieza personally making a call was rare, and it was always something horrible when he did. Usually communications went through other channels, typically the tech department on Frieza's capital ship. On occasion she'd hear from when high ranking henchmen. The last time he'd called it was because one of the big projects she was working on had fallen over a month behind schedule. After that call- well she didn't fall behind schedule anymore, and her team worked double hours to finish it before its initial due date. She heard a dark chuckle and didn't have to turn to know where it was coming from.

"Better go appease your master, woman," the Saiyan shit-head snarked at her. She could feel his eyes on her back, so she took a quick steadying breath and freed one hand just long enough to give him a choice finger from over her shoulder. She was quick to replace it though; she knew her hand was still shaking.

"For fuck's sake! I'll be in my office in ten minutes, transfer the call not a second before. Have the crew come collect these ASAP, Namekian goes to Weapons Testing and the chuck the Saiyans in lock down until further notice. And for the love of fuck, clean up this god damned mess!" She walked purposefully out the door, careful to not slip even slightly.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the incredible feedback, it's been a huge boost to keep me going with all this. I love hearing which parts people like or how they interpret certain interactions. Anyway, I was going to have this chapter up sooner but I wound up rewriting it like five-ish times. This final draft is bits and pieces of all of those put together. Won't lie, I'm still not happy with it, but this is a segue chapter and it's pretty hectic. There are some parts in here I'm proud of none the less, and hopefully those will cover for the rest. The next chapter should be a much more pleasant read with the Vegeta/Bulma interaction I've been dying to get out. Oh and I should take a moment to respond to a question I received.**

 **BlazedC: Way back when, I wrote for a lot of fandoms including this one, but those stories are gone for good reason. I'm not going to sugar coat this, just gonna say it. They were all smut fics. Bad smut fics written by an inexperienced horny teenager. I'm hoping I'll be able to devote some free time to putting out a shorter story or a couple of one shots soon. Those other fics are buried with my shame.**

 **Please send me those all inspiring reviews, let me know what worked and what didn't so I can give you guys what you want.**

* * *

The walk back to her office was the fastest she'd ever made it, and she was so lost in her own thoughts she didn't notice that no fewer than three members of her staff slipped on the bloody footprints she left in her wake. She was too busy running over every possible reason Frieza could be contacting her directly. Obviously there were no projects over due, she planned for that now. It was possible he knew she was developing a weapon to use against him. Well, she was certain he did know she had something up her sleeve, it would be serious case of enemy underestimation otherwise, and they were both too cautious for that. The question was whether or not he actually finally had any indication as to what she was up to. That would mean a leak.

That was unlikely though, and not because she trusted her staff. Bulma had gone above and beyond to make sure such a thing was next to impossible. Each part of the project was farmed out to different departments under the guise of being upgrades and developments for other things. There was only a handful of people that knew they were working on something that wasn't to be sent to Frieza, and those people had the least important parts to work on, the innocuous parts that wouldn't arouse suspicion. It was more likely that someone had started piecing things together, but even that was a bit of a stretch. There was only one person working on piecing all the individual parts together and that was Bulma. All that she did for it was done at home, not even saved to a computer. It was written out by hand and locked safely away. It would be fucking impressive if anyone had anything worth leaking to Frieza.

She wouldn't let herself get cocky and rule it out. There were employees with a lot of access, a few of her assistants and board members and the like. Not to mention personal connections that may not have access to her data but did have access to her. She was careful to keep everything tucked away, but not even she was perfect. She'd compile a list of possibilities depending on how this meeting went. It was entirely possible that he wanted something specific from her and wouldn't pass the task along to anyone else. She probably shouldn't waste too much time speculating, time was running slim.

As soon as she made it to her office she kicked off her ruined shoes and combed her fingers through her hair while peering in the mirror. She gave a quick frown and then tugged the tube of lipstick from her bra and gave her lips a refresh. In a way, this was retreating to a safe space for Bulma. She had no control over what was about to happen, but she could control the image she presented. While Frieza would not be impressed by her physical appearance, looking perfect made her feel strong. Like nothing could shake her. Granted her feet and calves were a bit of a mess, but none of that would be visible during the call.

She drew in a deep breath before stepping in front of the large screen in her office where the call would be sent to. She gave her hair a final fluff, put the most pleasant smile she could muster on her face, and waited for the image of a monster to light up her office.

* * *

The attempt to overcome his bindings left him more drained than he was prepared to admit, and he could no longer resist the weaker pull from the collar on his neck. His face was back into the filth. On top of that he could feel the blood trickling down from the spot where those ridiculously impractical shoes had pierced him. No, he mused rather grimly, they weren't impractical after all. The woman could wield them like a fucking weapon as indicated by the blood dribbling off his hand. He could see his own blood joining the coagulated mess beneath him, and he felt his stomach lurch. It was almost like witnessing a prophecy, his blood mixed with endless others on the white tile floor in the Weapons Testing department. He tilted his head just enough to not have to see the drops falling now from his brow. Granted this forced him to view a far more surreal sight: the humans.

Bizarre and pathetic little creatures they were. The two that remained in the great blue bitches wake reminded him vaguely of birds squawking helplessly, these two into their radios to abide their mistress. They were terrified of her, and that was what was perplexing. Yes the news of the call from Frieza was certainly rattling them, but no at the core of it all, they were afraid of _her_. It's not like she held any physical threat against them, they were humans, they were safe. Yet they all acted like she was about to send them to the executioner for failing even slightly. The female, tall with a mass of dark curly hair, had still not recovered from the very crimson change in her wardrobe. Her hands were shaking and she was sniffing pathetically as she continued making orders over the radio. The male to his small credit did notice her obvious discomfort. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a single napkin, then rather helplessly offered it to the woman muttering something about a "band aid on a bullet hole". She took it none the less and used it to wipe some of the mess off her face. All it succeeded in doing was creating a streak across her cheek. They were such painfully awkward creatures. Vegeta watched the scene with an agitated interested, how had no one destroyed them before?

Oh right, the bitch, she'd saved them. It frankly seemed like a wasted effort. The humans were just so… He couldn't really settle on the right word, but the point was he wanted to hurt them. They were all so infuriatingly insipid, flustered over stupid things. That was it at the core, he supposed. Saiyans reveled in pride, humans were creatures of greed. His people based their worth on what they could do, who they could beat, how strong they were. For humans power came from what they had, who had the most and how could everyone else get it. He hated this fucking backwards planet. Blowing it up would be an absolutely delight.

"Vegeta! Why did you do that? Why did you antagonize her?" There was a fear in his voice that just as frustrating as the humans. Kakarot was his only ally, and he couldn't get out of here if he was pathetically broken.

"Because I will not be cowed by a weak little woman," he hissed. The way he was pinned he couldn't get a good look at the younger man, it was probably better that way. He didn't want to see his longest running rival scared of the annoying, fragile bitch. He heard Kakarot draw in breath, preparing to speak, but he was cut off.

"Yes you will," the Namekian said in a calm, albeit bitter tone, "you're as fucked as the rest of us. That brave thing you're doing? Everyone else has already tried it, and everyone else already gave up. There's only one way out for people like us, and that's without a pulse." Vegeta opened his mouth to retort angrily, but the door opened back up and a group of well-armed humans filed in. He hated this fucking place.

* * *

Vegeta and Kakarot were rather unceremoniously dumped in to their room. The door shut and locked with a loud mechanical click and less than a minute later they were plunged into pitch blackness. When he was pinned down after the fight he'd been distracted enough to keep his mind off his wounds, but now the painful ache of bruises and a cracked rib were becoming all too real. Kakarot seemed to be crawling, trying to make his way to the bed as loudly as was physically possible. Or perhaps it was just a testament to how silent the room was when completely powered off. He heard a thunk and a grunt and knew the younger man had hit his head on the bed frame. He was about to snort about it when the other Saiyan promptly lost his shit. Loud swears echoed as the bedframe bolted to the ground had its limits tested by Kakarot shaking it with all the strength he had left.

For once he decided against making a shitty remark, difficult for him as that was. Derision and disdain were the languages that came naturally to Vegeta, so when that was not a viable option, shutting the fuck up was the best way to go. In the meantime he made his own limping way towards where his own bed should be, arms out in front of him searching the air for the frame. Once the cold metal was in hand he moved cautiously onto the uncomfortable cot, careful to avoid getting hit in Kakarot's blind tantrum. He could hear that it was losing steam now, rage-filled screams were morphing into quiet pained grunts, the bed rattling quieted until it stopped with a final squeak as the younger man dropped on his own bed.

"Why did you…?" He could barely make-out the breathy pleading question from Kakarot, but Vegeta did and he sighed. He opened his mouth, but found only dryness there, no words and after a moment he just shut it. For several long moments the only sound was Kakarot's heavy panting.

"It's not as bad as you think. We defended ourselves after being heavily provoked. She's a bitch but she's not stupid, she's not going to punish _you_ , her best behaved pet, because _I_ got mouthy with her." That was just about the best he could do in the way of being comforting, he honestly didn't put it past the woman to be petty enough to do something to Kakarot as well. It would certainly be something Frieza did. Still, despite her little show, she really didn't seem to delight in sending people off to be tortured or killed; she was just willing to do it. That last part was crucial to his future.

"But we were about to kill that guy," there was a waiver in his ally's voice and it gave Vegeta pause, "besides it's not like they don't invent reasons to punish people around here." The older man felt the frown he didn't know he was wearing deepen. He'd already witnessed that in the short amount of time he'd been here, supervisors trapping people into getting in trouble and shipping them off to MRD. Still, he wasn't aware of the top bitch herself being involved in that. That didn't seem to fit based on what he'd seen from her so far, but that didn't mean she was incapable of it.

"We'll deal with it as it comes; you've bought yourself a lot of good will, cash it in if you can." That was the truth; all that "doing the right thing" bullshit Kakarot was so fond of might have finally found a place where it was useful to him. It had always gotten him in trouble working under Frieza.

"What about you?" There was a brief moment of hesitation following the question before he resolved on the best answer he could offer other Saiyan.

"I'll deal with it as it comes," he repeated it like it was a mantra.

"We're not going to get out of here are we?" Kakarot asked, sounding so glum and hopeless. The rage was quick on the rise for Vegeta, but again he refrained from dishing out his usually bastardly retorts. Kakarot was his only ally now, and the man was strong when he wasn't so beaten down. If he gave up, then Vegeta was completely screwed. His chest felt heavy at finally admitting that to himself, they just couldn't afford to lose focus. So he took a deep breath and prepared the unique brand of positivity he could offer.

"Even if it kills me to do so, we're getting out, then we're going to blow up this fucking planet," he said firmly. That was comforting. Well, it was to Vegeta. Believing that eventually the only thing left of this horrible place would be memories, and that he would be the one to destroy it.

"What about Frieza?"

"He's next. We'll find a place to train, get strong and blow him up too." His fingers found their way to his temple to massage away the growing headache. Couldn't Kakarot just accept that and be satisfied? His patience, of which he had very little in the first place, was rapidly dwindling. Everything the young man was saying just reminded him of yet another obstacle that he had to cross, and it was making his chest uncomfortably tight.

"How?" At least he sounded more curious now than depressed, any small victory Vegeta would take, and that was enough for him to start speaking his own language once again.

"For fuck's sake, this isn't twenty-god-damned-questions. Right now we're worried about getting out of here, focus on that." He shouldn't have snapped, but to be fair, what did Kakarot expect from him? There was a very finite reservoir of tolerance he had, especially for unending questions.

"Sorry," with that word the two men fell to silence. Absent mindedly, he rubbed a thumb over the spot on his hand where the woman had injured him. That was the definition of humiliation, damaged by that thing. He had vastly underrated her, and that was a bitter pill for him to swallow. Such a pathetically weak little creature demanded so much control, respect, and fear from not just her prisoners, but also her fellow humans.

Begrudgingly he did have to admit she would be a worthy opponent, even if she had no physical strength to speak of. He imagined she paid someone to make a fist for her instead of raising her own. It burned to his core, his soul, that this woman had so much power at her finger tips. She turned great warriors into pathetic, broken shadows, and didn't even have to lift a single finger to do it. Meanwhile he, a prince born to rule a great people, had to claw, force, and demand every ounce of respect he received. It was as though some unseen force was mocking him. Well, he supposed one seen force was, no doubt Frieza and his men would find this whole scenario highly amusing.

He wasn't going to die like the Namekian was doomed to: bitter and broken. He'd have some amount of pride intact before he went down, _if_ he went down. He'd seen cracks in the woman's façade during her little self-important tirade earlier. She'd slipped both figuratively and literally. He saw the way her body tensed when she almost fell. Ironically in her attempt to show no weakness she'd expressed it. She saw her brief fear of faltering. He smelled it like a fine perfume when she realized it was Frieza holding for her, he saw her hand shake when delivering the vulgar gesture. He'd even felt the pause when the Namekian expressed his desire for death, an uncertainty in her.

A smirk crossed his features when he pictured that shocked look on her face when he'd interrupted her. She'd been absolutely incredulous that someone had dared interrupt _her_. Her vanity was almost unfathomable, and unexpectedly a chuckle arouse from his chest. He was grateful when Kakarot remained silent instead of inquiring. He was fairly certain the young man was as lost in thought as he himself was. When the woman had him pinned with her shoe, he'd pictured killing her. He'd let her watch him destroy the world she worked so hard to protect, and then crack her skull underneath _his_ boot. He was losing interest in that fast. How long would- no could he keep her alive? Could he destroy her planet and then make her use that impressive intellect for him? It did seem like the path to taking down Frieza in the long run. He suspected the woman was already preparing her own defense against him when he inevitably turned. Frieza was nothing if not a creature of habit, and he'd made one of turning on allies that threatened him. He doubted she would offer that up willingly, and strangely that was a pleasant thought. Bending that woman to his will seemed like an absolutely delightful challenge, and if it didn't work, he could at least enjoy the feeling of her head cracking beneath his shoe.

* * *

The screen went black and Bulma's knees got wobbly. The conversation had not gone well. _Rumors about you and your company_ , is what Frieza had said. That meant even if he didn't know it all, he knew something. He was sending some of his _best men,_ including but apparently not limited to his right hand known as Zarbon. She gripped the edge of her desk to regain her composure, and then slid her rear back so she was sitting atop it. Her heart was pounding away in her chest and her breathing had grown uncomfortable once again. This was bad, very bad. She nudged the bottom drawer open with her still bloody feet and made a mental note to schedule a pedicure in the morning. It almost toppled her, retrieving the bottle of expensive whisky before she shut the drawer with her heel. She uncapped and drank straight from the bottle. Oh if daddy could see her now.

"Ms. Briefs…?" Her assistant poked her head through the door, it was clear she'd made some attempt to clean herself up, unsuccessful as it may have been. She had a long, dry streak of blood on her cheek where it appears she tried to wipe it off.

"Yes, Miss Camari?" Bulma rested the bottle on her knee and cast a weary glance at the frightened looking woman.

"We're not all about to be, you know, blown up by Lord Frieza, are we?" Her voice was wobbling, and Bulma resisted the urge to scoff. It occurred to the blue haired boss that this could possibly be the worst day of her assistant's life so far. For most people flopping around in entrails and then fielding a call from a world decimating sociopath would certainly rank high on the shit day list. Granted this was a particularly shit day for Bulma too, she was going to have to figure out how to prevent Miss Camari's fear from coming to life.

"Not immediately and not if I have anything to say about it. He is sending some of his men in about a month to check up on us, so we'll just have to be as perfect as we always are. Which reminds me…" She trailed off as she hopped off her desk. She tilted her head back and took an absolutely impressive gulp of the hard liquor before she continued. It was time to get back to business; she had a world to keep spinning.

"Things are about to get extremely busy, I'll be updating quite a few projects in the morning, so start scheduling sometime with department heads for me. Further, I'll need to clear up all the free time I have available, so please cancel any appointments that aren't completely necessary over the next two months. Also move my pedicure up to tomorrow." She said this like it was understood that pedicures would always remain mandatory. Her assistant relaxed as Bulma regained herself, her control, and that was a pin of pride for the blunette's lapel. It showed just how much faith she inspired in her staff.

"Yes, Miss Briefs, does this extend to your lunch appointments?" The younger woman was dutifully scribbling notes with an overpriced pen on a cheap notepad. Her entire mood had shifted back to the pleasant aspiring business woman Miss Camari was. She was a good assistant, easily scared, eager to please, and determined to succeed.

"It absolutely does. In fact, when cancelling them, please tell him that I won't be requiring his services for the foreseeable future, also that I am aware he's been looking into other interested parties, and for all involved it's recommended he find his future with one of those." Miss Camari let out a soft laugh at Bulma's words, like a joke had just been told.

"We're talking about your lunch dates? With your boyfriend?" She gave Bulma a bright, innocent smile, but at the expression on the bosses face, Miss Camari sobered immediately and resumed writing things down as she muttered a hurried apology. Bulma tapped a finger on her chin at this. She couldn't afford distractions, not now, and Yamcha was always a distraction. The warm feelings had fizzled long enough ago that severing the ties weren't remotely painful, but she might as well put some Bulma flair onto it.

"Perhaps your right, maybe a little sentimentality is called for. We have been together for over a decade, and I did really enjoy at least two of those years." Bulma sounded contemplative as she took a seat behind her desk and powered up her computer. There was still work to be done, after all.

"After you call him and inform him that his position has been terminated, send him a gift basket with some scented candles, chocolates, and lots of really nice lotion, don't be afraid to splurge on it. I want the card to say: _Go fuck yourself. Sincerely, Bulma_." She was pulling up several documents on her computer when she paused again wearing a thoughtful expression. She held up a finger to gain her assistant's attention.

"No wait. _Love, Bulma_." Once Miss Camari had finished writing down all of her instructions, with the same single finger Bulma pointed at the door in dismissal. Yes there was much work to be done, but Bulma was prepared for it. She had a leak that needed plugging, either someone she trusted had betrayed her, or someone else had started putting the pieces together. She was ready for it in either case.

Starting with the updates she was now drafting, false information was going to be dispersed about each group's part in the project, when Frieza's dipshit brigade arrived, she'd be able to ferret out where the leak had come from by figuring out which plate of bullshit they'd been fed. In fact, there may have been one more avenue to fuck up Frieza's "fuck up Bulma" plan. She got up from her desk and poked her head out the door to see her assistant gathering her things, most likely about to head home and shower until there was no water left.

"Yes, Ms. Briefs?" The woman rose to peer at her boss curiously.

"Oh, Miss Camari, I almost forgot about the monkeys didn't I? Pencil in a half hour for the tall one tomorrow and at least an hour for the short one in my schedule, they can stay in lock down until then. I am going to be handling their discipline personally. Enjoy your day."

* * *

 _Earlier_

Fifteen minutes, that's how long he'd been on hold. After the first five a squeaky, frightened human came on the screen and informed him that in another ten Ms. Briefs would be ready for him. If he were a less tolerant man, this would be infuriating, but Frieza considered his patience one of his best qualities. He had no problem waiting for the pay off. Besides, today was the beginning of a new era and his mood was ever so high. After the fifteenth minute passed his screen illuminated with the lovely visage of Ms. Bulma Briefs, looking as preposterously perfect as ever. She did seem to enjoy that, that illusion of control, and for now there was no reason to remove it from her.

"My lord," she greeted in her most formal, pleasant voice. He'd never personally heard one of her famous tantrums, by design he was certain, but it didn't take a psychic to see it bubbling just beneath the surface.

"It has been far too long, hasn't it, Bulma?" He couldn't deny himself a little smirk as his eyes locked with hers. She was one of the few that would hold his gaze.

"It has, I am always glad to hear from you," she replied in that same sickeningly pleasant tone. It was time to wipe that from her voice. He did so enjoy playing these verbal games.

"Hmm," he tapped his chin and then shook his head, "lying isn't a good look on you, you're far too pretty for that." Her eyes narrowed and he couldn't resist a self-indulgent chuckle.

"That's neither here nor there; of course, I fear that this isn't a social call," as he finished the door in the corner of the room opened. For that reason alone he broke eye contact with his prey, to investigate the intrusion. Zarbon stood in the door, and obedient as ever he quietly stood against the wall waiting. He was the only thing in the universe that might be prettier than Bulma, but so much better behaved.

"To what do I owe this pleasure then?" She didn't flinch when he re-fixed his eyes upon hers.

"Rumors are such an unpleasant thing, aren't they? Whispered un-pleasantries causing drama where there need be none. I absolutely abhor them. And yet… I frequently find that beneath all the nonsense lies a kernel of truth." He was setting a trap for her, and he didn't even care that she was watching him do it. There were, after all, several waiting for her she hadn't spotted yet.

"Rumors, my lord? You know I'd be happy to confirm or dispel any for you right now." She finally dropped the upbeat tone, good, he didn't like it when smart people pretended to be stupid.

"Unfortunately, my dear friend, that's the entire problem. You see these malicious little rumors are regarding you and your company. I know you'd _never_ disappoint me. Still, I can't let these things go uninvestigated, so I'm sending some of my best men. Once your… _good name_ has been cleared, I'll consider the matter closed." His tail was swishing back and forth, oh right, he hadn't told Zarbon he was taking a trip yet, had he?

"It's a pity to make some of your finest men travel all the way out here for nothing. I'll make sure to accommodate your men well; perhaps after a nice _vacation_ here on Earth your best will be even better." She prattled on in her usual self-assured tone.

"My dear, I never take the security of my empire lightly, I certainly hope you don't either," he let his voice trail off and ended in his best smirk. However, his good humor was shot when the loathsome little twit opened her mouth.

"I would never, and I hope you'll forgive me for implying such a thing. I know that even when the rumors have no base, the breath of them can be dangerous. We wouldn't want to stir up any thoughts after all, especially given how insulting a threat would be coming from a species as weak as we humans." Her head was cocked to the side, and her rapidly retreating smile showed that she immediately regretted saying it. The sound of Zarbon chuckling in the corner earned the green haired man a glare. He promptly shut the fuck up. Frieza was about to make sure the Briefs woman did the same, so he shifted tone into a gossipy one.

"Can I confess something to you? Promise you won't be mad?" He watched her reaction carefully; her smile was back but diminished.

"I could never be mad at you, my lord," she sounded so cautious and concerned. Good. She'd remembered to fear him.

"The time before your father died, a few years ago, wasn't it? I was actually about to end our little arrangement. I was personally going to head over and blast your little mud ball to hell; I even had the day picked out and everything. Your fathers work was impressive, but he would never dream big enough, and I was rather bored with it all. Then he died, and you took over. I wasn't expecting much from the soft, pretty young daughter of Dr. Briefs but low and behold not only were you as capable as he was, but you succeeded where he failed. You were such a marked improvement and showed so much promise that I just thought to myself, let's wait and see what she's capable of, I could always just kill you all later." He left a long pause so she could fully absorb his meaning, she held his gaze for half a moment before her gaze dropped to her feet. Good girl.

"And I must say I am quite glad I didn't. As of now I still have so much use for you, and I do hope that trend continues for quite some time." His tail thrashed after the obvious threat, Briefs always thought she could win these little verbal battles, bothersome fool that she was. Her eyes returned to his and she looked considerably more serious than she had the entire conversation.

"My lord, I am known for three things: my beauty, my intelligence, and my ability to impress. I don't disappoint _ever_." Yes, little girl, try to save some face, it didn't matter anyway. She ticked off on her fingers each thing she was just so annoyingly proud of. Her massive ego was extremely reminiscent of another irritant, which reminded him…

"Not yet anyway. Oh, by the by, I have a silly question; I hope you'll indulge me. That last monkey I sent you, is he still alive?" He might as well throw his most loyal a bone for making him take the long trip out to the miserable planet.

"For now, though I'm currently deciding if he's going to stay that way," her response was clipped, annoyed. He couldn't resist a chuckle at that.

"Only a week and he's already making friends. I only ask because he and some of my men go way back, I'm certain you could arrange something special. I know Zarbon would just be delighted to see him again." He saw her resolve flicker at the mention of Zarbon's name and finally she realized the gravity of her situation.

"It would be my pleasure, Lord Frieza," she bowed her head respectfully.

"Oh I know it will be, my men will depart by tomorrow you can expect them within the month. Then this unpleasantness will be over. One way or another." He finished the thought darkly before disconnecting the call.

"You know, I thought our plants hadn't found anything about Briefs," Zarbon commented and Frieza couldn't resist a growing grin.

"They haven't, that woman is far too clever for that, but I don't particularly care anymore," he said flicking his wrist as if dismissing the notion.

"I know she's not stupid enough to not be preparing something and the threat she poses is fast out weighing her usefulness. You and some of my science department are going to head to Earth, get everything they're currently working on, gather a few of their most useful scientists, and then destroy the planet. Besides I have all my biggest irritants on the same planet locked in the same building, it's simply too good of an opportunity to miss." The simple truth, he had no proof the woman was planning _something_ but he didn't need it. He knew a formidable foe when he saw one, and for all her physical weakness and obnoxious posturing, she was not a woman to underestimate.

"What about the Briefs woman?" Zarbon asked plainly. It was a good question, her specific genius and talents would be missed by the empire, but then at least there would be an empire to miss her. He doubted she could be broken and remain useful.

"She's too dangerous to be kept, kill her once you've got everything you need," he replied in a bored tone, before giving Zarbon his full attention with a smile.

"Oh pity, she's so pretty," the green haired man said in a flat, sarcastic tone.

"I'm fairly certain you'll get over that," Frieza replied flippantly.

"Indeed, I'll prepare and head out in the morning," Zarbon saluted and then bowed before leaving. Oh Frieza was going to miss all his shiny new toys from Earth, but he'd done extremely well without them before and he could certainly continue to do so now.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Soooo… you may have noticed this chapter took extra time and you may have noticed that extra time corresponds with the release of Fallout 4. Interesting coincidence that. Anyway, thank you guys for all your support and your patience, and for having it this chapter is all about Bulma/Vegeta interaction. Well almost all about it. I won't lie providing an alternate view of Bulma in the form of Yamcha this chapter was pretty fun to me, but they won't get their interaction until next chapter. Starting then you can expect to see more time jumps and the like, and this chapter marks the turn towards a darker tone. So far it's been the Bulma show, which has been fun, but things are about to get _mutual_. There is a warning for this chapter, there is what I consider mild violence and it is depicted with some sexual overtones. To be clear this isn't sexual violence. There's not going to be rape or the threat of it in this story, but control, dominance, and masochism are underlying themes so certain things will be written somewhat erotically. I haven't even decided if I'm going to write any smut for this story yet. If there's enough demand for it I will.**

 **You guys know the drill, your reviews keep me motivated to keep this story going, and I love to hear any thoughts or opinions you may have on it. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

He wasn't sure how many times he'd tried calling already, and Yamcha wasn't about to check to find out the depressing truth. When he'd received the call from one of Bulma's many lackeys, he hadn't been shocked. Alright, that's not entirely true; he had been surprised that _now_ was the time she decided to end their relationship, but certainly not with the method. That didn't piss him off any less. She couldn't even be bothered to do the dirty work herself. He wasn't going to pretend he'd been a perfect boyfriend, or that he was so deluded as to think that their relationship was going anywhere. That didn't mean her casual disregard for his emotions was alright by any stretch of the imagination. At first he'd stayed calmed, reminded himself that he was expecting something like this, and that there was no conceivable way in which they weren't both better off out of the relationship. That lasted all of fifteen minutes before he sent the first text message, and to his credit, he started out mostly civil.

 _Call me. Even if you don't want to we have to talk._

 _If you want to break-up, fine, but we need to talk._

 _I won't let you ignore me. I deserve more than that._

After half an hour of silence he'd started calling, which of course she didn't answer. She didn't answer his calls when they were together, why would she bother right after having someone else dump him? It didn't take long after that for his texts had become decidedly less pleasant; a few of them were full of sentences he was so ashamed of that he wouldn't even read back through them. He was goading her, he wanted a reaction, but he wouldn't get one. He knew he was essentially shooting her with foam bullets, no matter what he said they were just going to bounce right back off her. She didn't care what he thought, and she hadn't for a long time. That was the most frustrating thing that at the end of the day, he'd lost all of his power in their relationship years ago, his opinions and wants didn't matter. He didn't matter, and now she was undoubtedly smirking as he pitched what ultimately amounted to a temper tantrum in her eyes.

It wasn't one though, and that made it all the more infuriating. He wasn't wrong for feeling this way, he wasn't being emotionally immature or expecting things from her he shouldn't. He knew and had known for some time that their relationship was coming to an end, he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't hopelessly idealistic. His problem was that he was _nostalgic_.

When they were young, Bulma was different, and not just in the way teenage girls are. She was self-centered then as she was now, she had a massive ego, and was prone to attention-seeking histrionic behavior that would have made a soap opera star blush. She entered every room and handled ever situation in a way that just commanded focus. Technically, those maybe were faults, undesirable traits, but it was such a large part of what made her attractive in the first place. She was and had always been a force to be reckoned with.

What had changed was far more sinister than the typical behavior of a pampered heiress. She was no longer optimistic and adventurous; she was no longer a woman or girl, who despite her selfishness, still wanted the best for everyone. She'd been so vibrant, so intoxicatingly enthusiastic about life, about her plans and her adventures that it was impossible not to get swept up into that excitement. Excitement. That was the word; she used to be so _excited_ about everything and now she was not.

Now? Now she was bitter and cold. Now with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she'd slowly become more and more reclusive. The kindness and joy that was buried beneath her selfishness had simply vanished. She did nothing because she wanted to anymore; she did things because she had to. She'd say she'd grown up, but that wasn't it. She'd lost her ability to find delight in silly but meaningful things, and now took that pleasure from control, from taunting and teasing. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw a grin of pure delight on her face. These days they were either maliciously gleeful or a sinister smirk.

If pushed into a corner, he wasn't sure if he really did or did not agree with what she'd done in regards to Frieza. Sure, they always fought about it, and he most definitely did not approve of anything he knew she did these days (he'd stopped wondering long ago about the things he didn't know), but he wasn't stupid. He knew they were in a shit situation and no one was really coming out ahead. He knew he was lucky he'd never been put in her position.

It occurred to him that the thing he really missed was the simple conversations they had. For so long their conversations had been nothing but flimsy attempts to bait one another into an argument. They never just talked for the sake of talking. He didn't even really know what she liked anymore, if she ever wanted to do anything just for the sake of fun. He didn't know if she ever just wanted to get a pizza and beer like they used to. Did she even think about that sort of thing anymore? Probably not. That was a depressing thought. That brought him back to what his problem really was _nostalgia._ He couldn't save her, as much as he would've liked to. Even if he could there was no turning back the wheels on this. She now was who she was. She'd jumped down that hole and he was just lucky he hadn't fallen in after her. He put his phone in his pocket, rose from his chair, and tugged the jacket over his shoulders; a walk would do him some good. Clear his mind a bit; maybe refocus on things and…

His train of thought derailed when he opened the door and saw the gift basket sitting on his door step. He reached down and read the card as a fresh wave of rage washed over him. She'd already fucking won, why did she always feel the god damned need to rub it the fuck in? They'd been together a decade, he'd been good to her, showed up whenever she wanted him to, and did damn near everything she asked. When she said they needed to be more low-key to avoid all those people who were so justifiably pissed off by what she does, he'd said fine. They stopped doing things he loved doing and he never once voiced a complaint about it. He'd done damn near everything he could for her. Shouldn't that fucking count for a little respect when all was said and done? All those bittersweet nostalgia feelings were gone by the time he kicked the basket as hard as he could. A bottle of lotion broke open and spilled all over the floor in front of his apartment. The bottle of wine managed to survive but rolled away. One of his neighbors hesitantly peaked out, but she shut the door as soon as she saw the look on Yamcha's face. Bulma didn't want to answer his calls? That was a-fucking-okay with him. He'd give her the chance to be shitty to him in person, at least then he could return the fucking favor.

* * *

Vegeta wasn't worried because he didn't worry. He wasn't scared or nervous. He did however notice obvious warning signs when he spotted them, and his day so far had been absolutely full of them. He and Kakarot were woken up early, before the schedule dictated they normally would. Given that it was the humans that dragged them off, this was no doubt to avoid any incidents with the other slaves. Everything about the human's behavior was off. They weren't chattering or barking condescending insults. They were almost completely silent save for any necessary conversation. Worse than that were the concerned and tense stares they continuously shared with one another. Saying it was troubling was putting it mildly, humans seemed to be such incredibly social creatures, they fucking voiced damn near every thought they had. At first he was certain this meant that he and Kakarot were about to be swiftly dealt with in the deadly way. Instead they were taken to a tiled room with a drain, instructed to strip and hosed off until the water ran clear. It was worse than it sounded, much worse. The water was cold as ice, and the water pressure was unforgiving. His already cracked rib almost shattered, and after enduring the cold temperature for so long they were both in danger of hypothermia. By the time they finished his bruises were an even darker shade and he had a few new ones to add to the collection. Yesterday he'd have been indignant at the injury; today he needed a clear mind. Something was going on and he had to maintain his focus. They were given fresh clothes, and then carted off in separate directions. That was the last time he'd seen Kakarot and that was hours ago.

From there he was dragged through a part of the compound he hadn't yet seen, a place with a lot of humans and every single one of them looked scared shitless. Strange as it was, there was some comfort in seeing them react in a more emotional way. There was a barely controlled chaos that was not characteristic of the tight ship he'd seen so far, employees darted back and forth, whispered to each other with wide eyes, and dispersed whenever someone with any authority strode past. He knew they were panicking over the call from Frieza. It was so obvious even Kakarot could probably have pieced that puzzle together. It may have been bad news for him as well in the long run, but it was just so delightful to see all the obnoxious creatures so terrified. He didn't get to witness it for long though; he was dropped off in an undecorated room with a table and a chair on either side of it. They set him up in a seat that wobbled and his arms and legs were cuffed together with very little slack to offer.

And that was it. The humans left, he wasn't remotely sure how many hours ago it was, and he was stuck staring at blank walls. Whether or not he was a patient man was debatable, but self-discipline he had an abundance of. It had not come naturally to him, a prince that by birth right was owed his will, but it was a lesson that had been forced upon him time and again under Frieza's rule. Swallowing his pride, and tolerating humiliation, blindly obeying the man that destroyed his race. He'd sworn years ago that the second he was out from under Frieza's thumb he never abide any of it ever again. Yet here he was, battered and in pain, waiting endlessly on a different tyrant to decide how best further his shame. His chest was uncomfortably tight and it wasn't from the damage, he had to force himself to take in slow, deep breaths. It was no easy feat with the pain, but he couldn't afford to let any amount of his emotions take over right now. The woman had him on his physical weakness; she'd get no other kind of it from him.

His thoughts hadn't quite left her when she entered. Her arms were loaded with files and a data pad, not to mention the can of something that smelled like poison clutched in her fist. All of it combined was clearly quite a burden for the woman as she kept shifting the weight around in her grip. His frown deepened, she was feeling just as much of the stress from Frieza's call as the others, even if she avoided showing it. He pictured her this morning, staring into a mirror and trying to figure out how to hide those dark circles under her eyes. She'd failed, and even though it was a small one, any failure of hers was something he was going to relish. He wondered if she'd grimaced whenever she caught her reflection and saw her own bloodshot gaze. Otherwise she looked as put together as she had the other times he'd seen her. Her hair was tucked back into a sleek bun, and her make-up was immaculate. She wore a black suit with a skirt that was only an inch off from being indecent, she had a soft pink lacy top on underneath and a pearl necklace. Then his eyes hit her shoes. They weren't as fancy as the ones the day before, but they were still tall and had that damnable heel.

She cast him a quick glance when his thumb went back to the spot on his hand, it was scabbed over now, and smirked. His eye twitched but he kept any emotion off his face. If she wanted a reaction she was going to have to work for it. The burden in her arms was carefully placed on the desk in front of the chair opposite him, but she didn't sit yet. Instead she unbuttoned her suit jacket before tugging it off and setting it on the back of her chair. The pink shirt underneath had small straps that exposed much of her creamy skin as well as the straps to her undergarment, in black. His gaze lingered on her almost nude shoulders for longer than he'd admit before he finally stared at her face. She wasn't looking back at him though.

"You know, I don't usually bother getting involved with your sort personally," she remarked before picking up the foul smelling can and downing a sip, "I don't know if you should feel proud of yourself or ashamed." He opened his mouth to respond but she was quick to silence him. She held up a finger and shook it as she spoke. Her movements were abnormal, not so much so that it was cause for concern. They were awkward and jittery and she was quick to shift in her chair. She looked both exhausted and alert, no doubt the result of whatever putrid concoction she was pouring down her throat.

"Nuh-uh. Shh. You'll be silent unless prompted to speak with a question. You've already pushed the bounds of what I'm willing to tolerate from my slaves. Besides, you were right the other day, what was it you said? That I _have trouble hearing anything that's not my own voice_? It was something along those lines. Dickish of you, but accurate." She waved a hand dismissively before leaning over the table to flip through her files, and he had to wonder if she was intentionally offering him the view down her top. His tail tightened around his waist and quickly relaxed, he didn't pine for women, or crave them. Where the other men he'd worked with always delighted in the _local charms_ of where ever they were dispatched to, Vegeta could never be bothered. He detested having his focus diverted, that's not to say he was a stranger to that particular pleasure, but when he indulged it was merely the scratching of an itch. This was perhaps the one place he and Kakarot had always been similar, they both had strongly preferred training and focus to feminine distractions. So while the image was not unwelcome, he reminded himself who he was dealing with and looked instead at the stack of files she'd brought along with her.

"I thought that you would know all about humoring narcissists in position of power, I mean you've been a slave most of your life. Not in name, granted, but nothing you've seen here is really new to you is it?" She finally sat down in the chair, it didn't wobble. He drew in a long slow breath to avoid any visible emotional reaction. She was pushing buttons. He just had to not fall for it. She turned a few pages and held one up for inspection. After a few seconds of silence she shot a glare over the page.

"That was a question," she said and replaced the paper in its place.

"The specific level of disrespect is new," he spoke in a cold, calm, but clipped tone. She'd just so casually rubbed his face in his previous torment under Frieza. She hadn't even bothered looking him in the eyes while saying it. His fists clenched as she smiled so frustratingly pleasantly at him, if he'd been able to, he might not have been able to resist punching that look right off her. That's where he'd start anyway. He didn't normally delight so much in the thought of torturing someone so much weaker than him. There was no pride or honor in tormenting them (that's not to say he didn't occasionally find it enjoyable to watch them panic like with the humans earlier). During purges they always went quickly, cleanly. Yet with all the time he'd had alone with his thoughts since last he saw her, he'd spent a large portion of it picturing breaking her. Making her beg for his mercy and stripping her of every ounce of control she held. Perhaps it was simply that she was a suitable stand in for Frieza. Perhaps it was that she represented everything he should've had but didn't. Obsession wasn't uncommon to him, he'd always struggled with it, be it in surpassing Kakarot or defeating Frieza.

"Bullshit," she clucked her tongue at him and wagged her finger, "Frieza and all his ass hats were no sweeter than I, you just don't like dirtying your hands with menial labor." His fists clenched once more at her tone, like he was some unruly student and she was his chastising teacher. His mouth was going before he could tell it to stop.

"And I suppose your perfectly manicured nails have been-" it didn't really matter what he had to say after that, she didn't really care. He knew it. The condescension only grew as she spoke.

"That wasn't a question, so I don't understand why you're talking. Since I'm in a good mood, I'll humor you though. You're only partially wrong," she said and held out her hand so she could inspect her nails.

"These hands haven't always been so pretty. Do try to contain your amazement, even I have, well _had_ flaws. When I was younger I spent a lot of my free time personally building all sorts of machines. I had mechanic hands. That was always just for fun, of course. I never _had_ to do anything. Does that piss you off?" She asked the question and titled her head in a conversational manner. She enjoyed this power over him. Well, not him specifically, she just liked the control. She was looking down her nose at him, telling him his place beneath her far predated his enslavement.

"Yes," he replied far too quickly. He knew he didn't matter to her, that she didn't spend even a tenth as much time thinking about him as he had about her over the past twenty-four hours. Even if she didn't have to deal with whatever Frieza was up to, she wouldn't waste any extra thought on him.

"I thought it might, and you know, I swore I wasn't going to be petty about this… well pettier than usual, but that does make me happy. It's the simple pleasures, as my father would say. Of course he was talking about a cup of coffee, a good cigar, and the like."

* * *

She couldn't resist a growing grin when his eye started to twitch, the previous day had been exceptionally rough, and so any pleasure she could derive from this little interaction she was going to take. Sure she'd had fun reading some of Yamcha's _creative_ attempts to get her attention. She was going to get a few pictures off the internet later of that angry looking cat and photoshop the messages on them. Maybe she'd arranged it into a coffee table book and mail it to him. That coupled with all the caffeine she'd consumed she was on a rush. She took another sip of her energy drink, this was her second today after four cups of coffee. She had that fidgety superficial energy tied to bad caffeine decisions, but frankly with the sheer amount of sleep she did not get last night, it was the only thing making this day possible. Well that and the opportunity to antagonize a few people that deserved it. She'd actually taken a little time to read up on the Prince in front of her on her way to this little _meeting_. He had a very impressive kill count, which was probably why he got shipped here. No one can risk being too good but uncontrollable.

She was being at least a little hypocritical on that, and just a touch sadistic with how she was handling the situation, but she was going to allow herself to indulge in that just this once. Especially with how quickly Capsule Corp collectively freaked the fuck out. She'd taken longer routes to get wherever she needed to go while coming in contact with as few people as possible. The goal was, and she did achieve it, to spend most of her time with people that were considerably cooler headed, the people in charge of departments, her board members, and those already working on doomsday devices. Those sorts tended to have stomachs of steel. Due to that fine sort, she'd managed to update, modify, and re-plan all the projects she'd wanted to get done today. She was now ahead of schedule, and that was a truly glorious thing. That didn't mean a nap was in her future, she still had to devote every free second to finishing her weapon for what she had now dubbed as the _FF Plan_.

Her weapon was simple because it wasn't obviously a weapon; it was based on technology that was already used on a massive scale at Capsule Corp and in the Frieza Empire in general. Ki suppression. As the devices currently worked, skin contact had to be maintained since it was impossible to just pull it from the air. Or that was conventional thought anyway. She'd heard of warriors drawing upon the energy of living things around them before, if they could do it, why couldn't she? So under the guise of improvements to the collars and cuffs she used, for years she'd had her research team work on methods of long range ki-suppression. Wasn't that just the perfect poetic justice? Take all of the power away from Frieza literally and figuratively before murdering the shit out of him.

Granted there were obstacles, no one really knew just how strong Frieza was and that was problematic. Rumor was he was capable of powerful transformations, and even if they weren't true, he still held a seriously impressive amount. She didn't think it would be possible to strip him of it completely without using the cuffs or collar, since a sustained drain would not be possible without them. It would require a hell of a suppression to make a meaningful dent. If she could though, that coupled with any number of her thoroughly well tested weapons already sitting on his ship, and Frieza would be a memory. Thankfully, from her previous sit down, she'd already gained a lot of information. She'd come here from her meeting with the other monkey, and he'd proven to be extremely helpful. While he didn't know any secrets, he did have working knowledge of the innards of Frieza's empire that most just weren't privy to. She still didn't have exact numbers, but she had a better idea of what she would have to be up against.

She'd devoted much more thought to what she was going to do with that monkey as opposed to the short one in front of her. Unfortunately for him, his future was more or less written in stone the second Frieza mentioned him during the call. She was going to aim to gain as much favor as she could when his men arrived and if that meant serving up the Saiyan prince on a platter, she was more than happy to oblige. He was going to be turfed to MRD until the crew arrived, and she had a strong suspicion that would the exact state Zarbon would be glad to find Vegeta in.

The tall one though, she'd had to make some decisions over. He hadn't really done anything wrong, in fact quite the opposite. He wrangled his cohort to the best of his abilities, and ever since he'd arrived things with the tier three group ran more smoothly. Initially she'd planned on just letting him off the hook, but given just how useful he'd been, it didn't take long for her to have a better idea.

"A lot of people don't like you, you know that right? I mean, a lot of people don't like me either, but they at least to my face they pretend to. People seem to think you're just a shithead in general." His lips thinned and brows knitted. He knew when he was being toyed with, but couldn't figure out what the game was yet. It was hard to keep her favorite bitch grin off her face.

"None of that is a surprise to me," he responded after a brief pause.

"Kakarot, though… I mean I couldn't even stay mad at the guy. After all, I was really expecting too much from him wasn't I? How could he be expected to handle all his responsibilities, yours, and your smart fucking mouth? I'm guilty of many things, but I'm not a monster. He's just been so incredibly useful throughout his entire _career_ here. It seemed like he was overdue for a promotion." She made air quotes when speaking the word "career", and her tone made it clear she knew just how callus she was being referring his enslavement in such a way. She was dimly aware that that was now the second time in as many days that she'd told someone she wasn't a monster.

"So he's been moved to tier two," she said as she started clapping her hands, "and invited to participate in some very unique technological testing we've got going on. This is first completely optional test for any slave in Capsule Corp and the first time anyone from tier three has moved up, he's really making history here. He was as excited about it as I am. He's the only slave that gets to spend time without his ki being suppressed that isn't about to be blown to shit in a weapon's test. I know you must be so proud of him" His eyes narrowed on her, his clenched fists were shaking, and the tail wound around his waist visibly tensed. She'd definitely struck a nerve. She finally finished her round of applause and let her wrists come to a rest on the table. One of the many things that they'd been working on was gravity simulation, and given some of the very interesting things she'd learned from him during their conversation, Kakarot was definitely the pony to hedge her bets on. That's not to say she was stupid enough to let him wander around the premises without the supressors. They'd remain on and only be deactivated when he was safely locked in the chamber, to be reactivated before it was opened. If he tried to break through the walls, simply crossing over them would cause them to turn back on. Bulma was nothing if not a thorough woman. Traditionally supressors were only switched off fifteen minutes before a weapon was tested, that providing enough time for the subjects to overcome any lingering effects. This was so that the maximum effectiveness could be tested. She realized how shitty it was to give someone back their full strength before murdering the ever loving shit out of them, but… well. She just didn't think about that.

"That does bring me to my first _real_ question. "Yes" or "no" will do you fine, no need to get wordy on me until prompted." She gave him another quick glance for reaction, his features darkened and she could see the breath in his chest. Oh he was pissed at her. She just smiled and rearranged the stack of files until she came to the notes she'd taken during her previous conversation.

"On your way up here, did you happen to notice something? Like say, my employees seeming…" she trailed off and rotated her hand in the air as if she were summoning the proper word.

"Frenzied?" That was probably the best word to use without sounding too insulting of her paid staff. She quickly picked up her pen, and tapped it against the paper as she gauged his responses. He was losing patience with her.

"Yes," he grit out through a tight jaw.

"I'm certain you remember what interrupted our previous conversation, Lord Frieza does certainly have a way of inspiring _something_ in people. It's been a while since I've spoken with him, so it was nice to catch up. What did you do to piss him off and get sent here?" His eyes narrowed on her, she knew she was trampling on dangerous territory here, but he was safely bound. He was easily the most intense person she'd ever dealt with; he was quiet and observant until poked. She imagined seeing him at his best, unbound and in charge, would be impressive to say the least. She was fairly certain it would take all of a second to kill her though if he did get free. Well that depended on how badly she pissed him off, he may take his sweet time murdering her. He wouldn't get that chance though.

"None of your fucking business," he said. He didn't yell it, he didn't have to. He spoke firmly with such venom. She blinked a few times to break through the intense stare he was pinning her down with. She didn't show the effect he was having on her though, and she let out a quick laugh.

"Oh, ha, Vegeta, that's a good one. In the same way it's my business what store my furniture comes from, or if the chicken I order for lunch is cruelty free, it's absolutely my business why my slave ended up here, especially such a disobedient one like you. I am deciding what to do with you, and I'm wondering if I'm wasting my time. So, why did you get sent here?" She picked her data pad from where it was buried in her stack of files, and tapped in a few choice places on the screen. She was prompted with an access code before the image she was waiting for popped up, the one that gave her access to ever ki-suppressing collar on Earth. She rose from her chair, and moved around to the front of the desk and leaned against it. She scrolled through the names and information before finding what she needed, with one more tap he'd be a twitching mass on the floor. She was within grabbing distance right now, so despite the fact she was blatantly daring him, she was going to be careful.

"Frieza was under the impression I was trying to find whatever Saiyans were left so that I could kill him." He hadn't hesitated when she moved, but he did shift his weight a bit in the chair making it wobble. She suppressed the smirk; she always put people in wobbly or uncomfortable seats. It was a small form of manipulation but one she enjoyed none the less. His tongue darted out to just barely wet his lower lip, which made Bulma aware that she was actually staring at them.

"Were you?" She leaned forward so that their faces were about a foot apart. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, and she knew he'd just taken in her scent.

"Does it matter?" Silence fell after the angry question, and Bulma fixed him with her most patronizing, eye-brow arched stare, silently reminding him of his position. His eye twitched again.

"Yes," was all he could manage out. She remained silent while she absorbed all the information that simple yes had offered. He knew he wasn't strong enough to take on Frieza alone, but he thought that he and other Saiyans working together stood a chance. She already knew all of this; Kakarot had been extremely forthcoming, and frankly excited to talk about one part that their plan had hinged on. Still, it did tell her a bit about him personally.

"Yeah, Cockrot mentioned something about that. You guys training to become the legendary Stupid Saiyans or whatever. You know, I thought you both qualified for that, but apparently you have to ascend to a special level?" She tilted her head up so she was looking down her nose at him, a small smirk on her lips. It was spoken softly given the close quarters they now shared, and in a tone more teasing than antagonistic.

"Super Saiyan," he corrected, and if his jaw clenched any tighter, he was going to fuck up his teeth. For some unknown reason that little gesture, that righteously indignant response made her stomach feel uncomfortable. Not because she regretted inspiring it, she actually enjoyed it. That was the problem. Peeving this man, testing his admittedly remarkable control, gauging his intense but measured reactions was pleasurable, and she there was a very decent chance this was going to be the last conversation she had with him. He'd spend a month in MRD and it wasn't likely he'd last long after Zarbon did as he was wont to do. Those thoughts wouldn't do her any good, so she put the physical and emotional distance back between them when she straightened up and adopted a less pleasant tone.

"That makes so much more sense," she said as she straightened out her skirt, "I mean, all due respect, and you guys are due none, Stupid Saiyan is a bit redundant." She cleared her throat loudly before he could say anything, she knew she was about to cross some lines. While the scientist in her was dying to prod and see the reaction, she knew she couldn't allow herself to enjoy this interaction any further. It was time to severe any weird connection she may be forming. She had a feeling later tonight when she reflected upon the day she was going to deal with a bout of self-hate over toying with a man before dooming him to a very unpleasant future.

"Anyway, back to the important stuff. Do you know why Lord Frieza contacted me?" Her arms crossed over her chest, the data pad held against her chest. Her finger was no longer hovering near the button.

"No."

"Oh good," she said pleasantly, "I get to deliver this wonderful piece of news to you. We're going to have some visitors arriving in oh say about a month, some of Frieza's favorite fuckboys. It was actually quite sweet, you know, Lord Frieza mentioned you specifically, seemed to think a dear friend of yours would be happy to see you again." She pointed her finger at him when mentioning Lord Frieza. His expression hardened considerably, but the color draining from his face more than gave him away. He hadn't until then realized the scope of the situation.

"The pretty one," she snapped her fingers, like she was trying to recall something, "oh right. Zarbon."

* * *

He didn't even feel the pain from his battered body in that moment, all he felt was a far too familiar combination of panic and rage flowing through every inch of his being from the roots of his hair to the tip of his tail. His mind had barely registered the words before his body reacted, he's not sure he would've stopped himself if he'd had control at that moment anyway. He knew he wasn't going to win this, he knew that no matter what happened from this point forward he was fucked. So when he swung his fists as hard as he could, his body rising from his chair, and they landed on her cheek all he could think was _good_. He couldn't maintain balance with the way his ankles were bound but that didn't matter, he was more than pleased to land atop her. The flimsy desk wouldn't hold and screeched out of the way so they hit the ground with him on top. Her papers went everywhere, and the can dropped to the ground and spilled its vile liquid. Her scream, loud, shrill, and close to his ears was more musical than anything he'd ever heard. He'd hurt her. _Good._

He was fortunate that the way they landed that both their hands were pinned between them, she'd eventually be able to free them, and so he had to do whatever it was that he was going to do quickly. The data pad had not landed far, and she'd have no problem reaching it. So he didn't risk any movement to free his own hands from their position beside her warm body. He deliberately dropped all of his weight on her, using only her body for support. His tail wrapped around her exposed thigh, clutching as tightly as possible. She gasped out, her chest compressing under the weight, it was enough to silence her screams, but not enough to stop the whimpers. _Good._ Her lips were parted just enough for her to try to pant in air, her eyes were wide and brimming with tears and for the smallest moment of almost silence, they simply stared into one another's. It was solid obsidian against her deep blue oceans that under the pressure succumbed to spilling a single tear.

"You say you're not a monster, and you're right. You're a spoiled child. You're a little girl in a situation you only think you control, while bigger forces than yourself tug the strings. You hide behind your frankly adorable little performance of being tough and scary, but you can't handle the things you've done. I saw you shake, I see you falter, and I feel your weakness." He'd dropped his head so that he didn't have to keep it raised in a precarious position while neither had access to their hands. This put his lips right by her ear, and he was all too happy to have her feel his breath while he whispered the words. Whispered though they may have been, they did not lack in strength and bite. If only for a moment, he had the power, and he was going to enjoy it. He heard her suck in breath, but continued speaking before she could interrupt.

"I will not be a toy for Zarbon's amusement," he almost yelled those words, and he knew it betrayed some of his own weakness. He'd suffered at the hands of his _betters_ for far too long. Even though he could not convince her to spare him, he could at least make sure she understood. He may have unwittingly shown her some of his pain, but in this moment it was worth it. It would be something that bothered her. She was strong, but he knew she'd failed to bury all of her softness.

"You," her voice trailed off as she struggled to draw in a full breath under his weight, "absolutely will be." She tilted her head and gave him a kiss on the cheek before exhaling deeply, freeing up just enough room for her hands to wiggle free. She didn't go for the data pad though; her thumbs went straight for his eyes. He jerked back when her nails pushed against the flesh of his eyelids, getting away just in time to avoid any damage, and that gave her enough room to deliver a well-placed knee against his groin. It was over in a moment. She'd forced him off of her and regained her footing. The pain shot through him, and he couldn't resist when she shoved him off. He was clenching up when the first kick came, and all the pain flooded right back in. The kick landed against his ribs, it was almost impossible to breathe.

"It just drives you mad, doesn't it? You're always someone's bitch aren't you? Someone's slave. First it was Frieza, and that's bad, don't I know it, but at least he's strong, at least everyone has to obey him anyway. You got downgraded, to a fucking human. To me, the weak _little girl_ that _pretends to be tough and scary_. " Each sentence she punctuated with a fresh kick, his vision was completely blurred by the time she finished and his stomach was knotting up preparing to evacuate the food he hadn't been fed. He couldn't prevent the tortured moan that ripped from his mouth.

"And that just wrecks you, but not as much as knowing I'm going to just hand you off to Zarbon like the piece of yesterday's trash you really are. You don't matter. Your fucking race doesn't matter, and I am just going to love seeing what they do to you in MRD. I-" Her foot came to a halt right before delivering another kick and it remained in the air for a moment. His body was tensed up painfully waiting for the next blow to his already damaged ribs. Breathing was a labor in and of itself, but he managed to gain a few calming breaths. He blinked to clear his sight just enough to see her foot at its halt, to see her other ankle wobble at being the only source of support. Finally she replaced the foot on the floor just in time to stabilize herself. He swallowed the rising bile in his throat and drew in a couple of excruciating breaths to regain any amount of composure. It could have only lasted a few moments, but the silence between them stretched for what felt like an eternity. His gaze finally slid her shapely, long legs, past her hips and chest to finally stare back into her face. For two days in a row he was stuck on the floor staring up at the woman, a similar position he'd often found himself in while working for Frieza. He growled, but not really, his body just wouldn't make the proper sound, so he groaned instead.

She was scowling, but it kept flickering to some unidentifiable emotion as her lips twitched. Her rage was losing the battle with her conscience, which was good for him. Finally she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then gently rubbed the spot on her cheek where his fists had landed. Even as fresh as it was it was clear there was going to be a dark mark to mar her perfect porcelain skin. Bitterly he took delight in once more picturing her at her mirror fussing over another flaw. He wondered with contempt how she'd explain it away to people. Yes he'd destroyed just a little bit of her perfection, if only in a temporary fashion. He shut his eyes for just a moment to picture how the dark purples would look on her fair skin, and he found it strangely calming.

"You are not wrong, about any of it really," she mused aloud, but she really wasn't talking to him. He didn't think he could do much talking while struggling to breath and not vomit as hard as he was anyway. She sat down on the corner of her desk, and the edge was just so that it nudged her legs apart to give him a view, black satin like the strap he'd noted earlier. He shut his eyes once more, now to avoid the image of a spread-legged woman looking tussled. Her perfect bun had loosened, letting wavy strands of aqua free, her skirt and top were wrinkled and pushed over her body oddly from the scuffle. In the back of his fogged brain a single word was whispered, and he did his best to suppress it: _beautiful_. He wasn't sure if she lost her sense of decorum and provided those glimpses because she wanted him to look, or because she'd rendered him so little of a threat that it didn't matter if he did see. His eyes flickered back open, and shifted back to him. One of her legs shifted just a little further to the side, and that settled it. She did want him to see, and suddenly he noticed he could still feel the warmth of her body on his. One of her hands dropped to the spot on her thigh where his tail had been, and he knew she was having a similar thought. The inevitable hike in his breathing only surged the pain in his chest and he let out a low groan.

"You know what I wanted to do when I was younger?" She asked the question with a hollow voice. Her brows were knitted and her lips had pursed to try to cover a rather miserable looking pout. Her eyes bore into his meaningfully, but he just couldn't quite gather what she was trying to impart upon him. It was possible the first moment of genuine emotion, he'd witnessed from her, the first moment of vulnerability that she didn't try to keep hidden behind a well-trained persona. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, and he couldn't pin point why. She finally broke the stare to roll her eyes and let out a scoffing laugh.

"I was going to build my own ship and adventure across the universe," she said and then pushed her hair so firmly out of her face it tugged her skin back when she did it. It was a wasted effort; disobedient strands quickly fell back to their original place. He swallowed, and furrowed his brow, he couldn't articulate in words why he understood why she was telling him this, but he did nonetheless.

"I was so fucking stupid," she voiced his thought for him. She bit on her lower lip just hard enough that when she let it go it had been tinged a darker pink.

"But, I suppose that's neither here nor there. I daresay you've earned yourself a great deal today, don't you?" He couldn't resist a frown at the sudden shift in tone; she was back behind the facade. Anger rose, but not at her, he was disappointed and he shouldn't be. She leaned back against the desk to reach into the pocket of her jacket for her phone. He shook his head to free himself of the pleasant image of her stretched out against the desk, she was so close. Her skirt had pushed up far enough that with a quick enough hand he could rid her of the satin underwear she so deliberately taunted him with. He couldn't deny how much he'd enjoyed in those few moments having her beneath him. Another shaky breath was enough to remind him of the pain that would make anything similar impossible. The mood between them had shifted so quickly, it was becoming difficult to keep up. He heard her phone beep and a familiar feminine voice came through it.

"Yes, Ms. Briefs?"

"Would you have security personnel come and remove the monkey from my office? He needs an escort to MRD; he's going to be there for a while."

"I'll have them up immediately, and the gentleman from your lunch appointments-" the sentence was cut off when she tapped on the screen. She rested there for a few more tense moments, looking at one of the ceiling. They both knew his eyes had not left her. She quickly sat back up and Vegeta finally released a breath he'd held since she'd sprawled over the furniture.

"Well I've wasted enough time on you today," she said as she hopped off the desk and retrieved her jacket from her chair. With a well-practiced grace she had it on and buttoned quickly. She rearranged her clothes in a more presentable fashion and in her return to normal, his stomach started to churn painfully. He'd been too swept up to remember exactly who he was dealing with and where he was about to be sent to. He thunked his forehead against the floor and swallowed painfully hard.

"I was wrong," he finally managed the words out, quiet as they were. She was in the middle of gathering all her fallen paperwork and such when he spoke, and she paused to stare at him curiously.

"You are a fucking monster," he let out a sharp, but hollow laugh. He wasn't looking at her any longer, and was frankly surprised when she didn't bother to respond. She finished gathering her things, including the data pad left on the floor and quickly left the room.


End file.
